We’ve started counting down to our move ‘this time next week…’. Sadly so far the answer to this time next week generally forecasts our driving round France looking for Spain. ‘Heading South’ is just not going to be good enough. Ian is the man who can get lost getting out a supermarket carpark and does so frequently.
We’ve also been thinking of the things that we probably won’t be able to get ie crumpets, and making sure we eat them before we go. This has resulted in some strange meals.
Last night we put the first load of stuff in the van and took it to J&V’s. This is so we can start to clear up here and get a Rug Doctor from the Co-op tomorrow to give the floors a good clean. The van will be ideal for our puropse and as long as we secure things well, should give us enough room too to sleep with relative comfort. ‘Luckily’ Ian has found two of our tents just in case…
Bob is currently staring at the cooker as we are cooking a load of sausages for Susans wedding today. Well not for the wedding itself obvioulsy but for the wedding party at their house later.
Susan and Andy have asked if I will read a poem at their wedding. It is ‘Foxtrot to a play’ and is the second most popular poem read at non-church weddings. The first is a poem by Pam Ayres, so I am glad that they did not chose that in case people thought I was putting on the accent. The poem is just CRYING out for a new verse. Ian and I have had great fun coming up with new verses, and whilst most of them are unsuitable for putting in a BLOG let alone reading at a wedding – we have come up with one we quite like. I can type this now, knowing that I am safe from Mum reading this and getting a stern mother to daughter call.
The poem is as follows
The soldier loves his rifle
The scholar loves his books,
The farmer loves his horses.
The film star loves her looks,
There’s love the whole world over
Wherever you may be;
Some lose their rest for Mae West,
But you’re my cup of tea
Some talk of Alexander
And some of Fred Astaire,
Some like their heroes hairy
Some like them debonair,
Some prefer a curateAnd some an A. D. C,
Some like a tough to treat em rough,
But you’re my cup of tea
Some are mad on Airedales
And some on Pekinese,
On tabby cats or parrots
Or guinea pigs or geese.
There are patients in asylums
Who think that they’re a tree,
I had an aunt who loved a plant,
But you’re my cup of tea.
Some have sagging waistlines
And some a bulbous nose
And some a floating kidney
And some have hammer toes,
Some have tennis elbow
And some have housemaid’s knee,
And some I know have got B.O.,
But you’re my cup of tea.
The blackbird loves the earth worm,
The adder loves the sun,
The polar bear an iceberg,
The elephant a bun,
The trout enjoys the river;
The whale enjoys the sea,
And dogs love most an old lamppost,
But you’re my cup of tea.
Both S&A are great tea drinkers so this is very apt.
Now – assuming that I don’t chicken out under the threat of parental or sisterly wrath, the verse that we have written which I might slip in at the end is as follows;
Susan loves her Andy
Andy loves his Sue
and we’ve gathered here today
for them to say I Do
They know about the birds
Roy will tell them about the bees
and when the newly weds are in their bed
they’ll forget their cup of tea
or
they’ll say “Your my Cup of Tea” (depending if the other version seems a bit ‘carry on’ for the day)
I don’t think that it is too bad – certainly not compared with some of Ians more creative ideas.
We’ve kept the theme going with the Xmas Tree decoration that we have made S&A. They have asked that everyone going brings a tree decoration, and we’ve made a couple out of glitter and old tea bags. Strangely they look, well, strange.